


Apparition

by asenath_waite



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Ghosts, Haunting, M/M, bold of you to assume murder will get you out of this relationship, ghost Tyelpe, silvergifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-05-28 09:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19391056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asenath_waite/pseuds/asenath_waite
Summary: On the eve of his final defeat, Sauron receives a ghostly visitor.





	Apparition

Mairon gazes down at the tents and fires and siege engines of his armies massed on the plains of Mordor: not the largest force he has ever commanded, but more than sufficient to wipe out the last stain of Númenor, or so his generals tell him. Even without his ring his victory should be assured, and yet doubt and fear will not leave him.

_All your strength cannot save you now, my love,_ a familiar voice whispers against his soul. _Your ring will burn, your tower will fall, and what remains of you will spend eternity in my arms. I have seen it._

"You inherited your father's foresight too late," Mairon whispers. He can feel the truth in the fëa's words like a weight in the air, and he thinks of all his wars and struggles, all his triumphs and humiliations...all for nothing. His body feels like ashes and the ancient bonds on his soul chafe and burn no matter what he does to satisfy them. 

Soft hair brushes the nape of his neck. _Foresight is a fickle thing, my Precious, but I am not. You are my treasure, and I will have you, though you burn me._

Mairon sighs and tilts his head back against a shoulder that isn't quite there. "You will let me rest, won't you, once you have me?"

A spectral hand sinks into his chest and strokes along the worst of the bonds, a thick, inflamed thing twisted deep into his core (nearby, a wheel of fire flickers). _Oh, my poor love. How this must hurt. Of course I will let you rest._

"Spare me your pity," Mairon snarls. He straightens, shakes himself, and narrows his eyes at a disturbance by the Black Gate. "Begone, Tyelpë, I have work to do."

He feels a smile against his lips. _As you wish, my Precious. I'll be waiting._

"Not long," Mairon whispers to the empty room.


End file.
